the soprano down on 12th street unleashed the firestorm.she sucked all the oxygen from the room filled with despondent artists seeking redemptionfrom self denigration, despair, uncertainty and chaos. you must look into her eyes, hold that gaze and do not waver. the turbulence unbearable, the intensity, the burn of years confessing all but love that sat in an unopened box waiting to be claimed. we were fearless companions in the name of art, excess and social justice. oh but for the night of splendor when we touched the hunger fathoms deep as if we would die of starvation when our plates were full the curtain of torrential rain as the wind shear strengthened fire whirls exploding, darting about

aimlessly. compensation for obliteration of all things known and unknown. do not look back, do not turn around to see the carnage. that is what we told ourselves because it seemed we could not bear the loss as we watched the dissolution, as if we would lose everything, lose it all. our lives, our loves, our freedom, our history as confidantes in a reckless and morally incomprehensible world. we watched as it all burned up and found

Tracing the lines to Orly Airport baggage gone missing $200 in my pocket, two months across the lonely continent. So tell me, where does the time go? Thirty years, another opusstripped bare of non-essentials. There are no fictions only roads that lead to impasse. Or the rotary so notorious it circles endlessly, the mind unyielding. I am the architect of my dreams I am floating, iridescent on the necklace of the sea, the horizon wavers in the distance unconditional without intention. I am fearless at the center of truth.